


Fidelity

by jaylene



Series: Smut Mondays [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: F/M, Samurai AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-24 13:26:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10742592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaylene/pseuds/jaylene





	Fidelity

Sakura smiles at her comrades-in-arms, dodging Matsuri as she sloshes her own personal bottle of sake as she sings. Sakura cannot help but snort at the bawdy lyrics, but she nods along as she refills her flask with something a hell of a lot stronger than sake. Spirits are high and plentiful and the scent of alcohol is quite bracing, even in the open air. Everyone is laughing, trading bottles as easily as stories around large, cracking bonfires.

Sakura, though not a true part of the revelry, enjoys it.

After all, they all deserve to relax.

They’ve been at war for too damn long.

So, Sakura plays the dutiful comrade, teaching Matsuri risqué new songs to bring back to the taverns at home, dancing first with Temari and then Kankuro, and sharing a stiff drink with Baki. She wonders if they know this her way of saying goodbye.  

Sakura takes a seat, a little way away from the festivities, watching on as the outsider she has always been. She is happy for these people, even if their happiness is not truly her own.

Something slithers over her wrist, jolting Sakura out of her increasingly morose thoughts. She glances down at the familiar sensation. As she thought, her wrist is encircled in lazily moving sand, tugging her away from the bright celebration.

Sakura slumps slightly, releasing an almost silent sigh.

A summons from the General.

Of course.

Sakura stands reluctantly, slipping easily into the shadows and making her way to the General’s tents. His tents are situated in the middle of camp and are about the same size as any of the other soldiers. The only concession that points out his position as leader is the finer material of the tents, circulating warmth in the bitter cold of desert nights.

Sakura brushes the tent flap aside, stepping into the General’s quarters. “You summoned me?” she says quietly, eyes flitting over the scrolls strewn high and low about the room.

“Yes,” Gaara replies, piercing pale eyes zeroing in on her.

He doesn’t continue and Sakura shifts her weight from foot to foot, trying to lighten her uneasiness. His gaze always seems to see through her and Sakura wonders what it is that he sees when he looks upon her. If it is anything like what she sees in herself, a collection of scars and broken failures, she…well.

Sakura clears her throat pointedly. “Why?”

Gaara does not even blink. “You are leaving.”

It isn’t a question.         

Sakura scratches her cheek, nodding. She doesn’t understand what he is trying to drive at here. “Yes sir. The war is over. Your enemies are defeated and you can take your rightful place as Kazekage. My contract is up.”

“Haruno…” he begins, a note of anger in his voice. “When will this madness end?”

“Pardon?” Sakura replies through gritted teeth.

Gaara stands, sand pushing Sakura further into the tent. Sakura knows that, if she were to use her true strength, she could easily get free. Still, Gaara knows nothing of her…gifts and she prefers to keep it that way. No one can know.

“Haruno, you’ve been throwing your services to the wind, willing to take on any suicidal mission as long as it pays,” Gaara says, moving closer to her. His hand stretches out to touch her but he retracts it at the last second.

“Is this how you repay me for my assistance, _Kazekage-sama_?” Sakura bites out, angry flush high in her cheeks and grip on her _yari_ tight. “You would do well to remember who you owe your victory to on this day.”

“I _do_ know,” Gaara says, voice rising in anger. Sakura feels vindictive pleasure at managing to fluster him. “But that is exactly what I am talking about! You took risks, _extreme_ risks, to ensure my victory. You damn well nearly died on multiple occasions.”

“As did your brother,” Sakura replies easily. “And guess who saved him? Me. Not all of us were gifted by the gods.” She glares pointedly at the swirling sand that loops around her wrists and waist. “I’d no idea you were so kinky.” To her surprise, her throw-away muttered comment brings a blush to the General’s face. The sand drops hastily to the ground, no longer restraining Sakura. Sakura laughs, anger breezing over, completely forgotten. “Really? _Really_?”

The flush on Gaara’s face darkens. “That is not the topic at hand.” He sighs, rubbing the kanji on his forehead. “I am grateful for your help through this war. Your presence, your reputation, it changed the tides of our fight.” He stares at her seriously and Sakura notes that they are nearly the same height, which is honestly a nice change of pace for her. “I cannot thank you enough for saving my brother and for everything else you’ve done.”

“Then why are you getting so worked up about this?” Sakura asks, unable to connect his thought processes. “I did my job. I _excelled_ at it. Why are you angry?”

“Because you keep putting your life in jeopardy!” Gaara replies. “We crossed paths in our youth, I know your past. I _know_ you are trying to make up for the actions of the Uchiha scion—”

“Stop,” Sakura interrupts, eyes flashing darkly. “You have no right—!” Sakura shakes her head sharply, turning to the entrance.

Sand rises to form a bulwark. She whirls on Gaara, hands shaking with the effort to keep from using one of her gifts. Not here, never here. She has to last only a little longer.

“Gaara, do not test me.”

“You are not responsible for that ignorant child’s actions,” Gaara says calmly, arms folded. “The Uzumaki and Hatake do not hold themselves culpable for what he has done. Only you.”

Sakura scowls, refusing to meet his eyes. “Don’t go there, Gaara. I have my reasons.”

“Reasons to continue being reckless with your own safety? You have never been the sort to seek out fame and recognition. This quest for penance is going to get you killed and all that will be left of your legacy are cautionary tales to young samurai,” Gaara says, vicious and blunt. Sakura can always trust Gaara to be honest, no matter how it hurts.

“So what?” Sakura asks, stung by his words and the casual way he pokes at old wounds. “What does it matter? I am a hired spear, Gaara; what does it matter to you?”

Gaara falls suspiciously silent, defenses raised once more even as his flush remerges.

Sakura goggles at him for a few moments in disbelief. “Gaa—Kazekage-sama,” she says gently, feeling awkward.

“Don’t,” he says, closing his eyes.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t show me pity,” he snarls, harsh.

Sakura warily eyes the way the sand moves around violently. “It isn’t pity,” Sakura snaps. She knows quite well how lethal his sand can be and she’s concerned about its reaction to Gaara’s emotions. “I’m just...ill-suited to this kind of thing.”

He relaxes slightly, eyeing her. Sakura, knowing his feelings now, feels all the more self-conscious beneath his piercing stare. “As am I,” Gaara murmurs.

Sakura laughs softly, taking in her…employer? acquaintance? friend? with new eyes. He is of a similar height to her, with corded muscles quite clearly cut and hair that reminds Sakura of blood and gore. His eyes are pale sea glass. The way he commands power is apparent in his stance but only those who know him can pick up the awkward gentleness that pervades his entire being.

As she contemplates this, Sakura feels a familiar spark of heat low in her gut.

“Sakura,” Gaara breathes, looking vulnerable. Sakura locks eyes with him, startled by the familiar use of her name. “Don’t leave. _Please._ ”

Sakura’s control breaks and she drops her _yari_ and steps forward into his space, angling her face to his for a kiss. He doesn’t respond but Sakura moves even closer, surprised by the lack of sand trying to block her. She cups his face, brushing her tongue against the hard seam of his chapped lips.

Gaara moans, arms banding around Sakura’s waist as she snakes her tongue up into his mouth, dancing along the roof of his mouth and tangling with his own tongue. Gaara stumbles slightly at the sensation, fumbling to keep up. He has never done anything of this sort before; unwilling to experience intimacy with those who branded him monster and weapon. But Sakura…

Sakura pulls away, a mischief tilt to her expression as she licks her lips. She smirks as Gaara groans and leans in to start the process over again. Gaara’s leg nudges between Sakura’s and she fights the way her eyes roll at the friction. Heat builds within Sakura as she rubs against Gaara and she begins to push him to his raised pallet.

Gaara picks up on her plan, grabbing her by the thighs and lifting her easily. Sakura wraps her legs around his waist and they release mutual hedonistic moans as they rub against each other. Gaara is hard, hot, and heavy against Sakura’s sex and anticipation fizzles through her as Gaara falls back onto the bed, holding her over him.

Sakura breaks away from him for a moment, lifting her shirt over her head. She smiles at the way Gaara’s mouth falls open as he stares at her bared chest. She cannot help but wonder if he has ever seen anyone this way before. Choosing to assist him, Sakura grabs one of his callused hands, bringing it up to cup a breast.

Gaara’s thumb hesitantly strums over her nipple, eyes wide with wonder as it tightens and strains against him. He turns his gaze to Sakura, who nods in encouragement. Gaara is a quick learner, bringing his other hand to cover her free breast, circling and plucking at her nipples.

Sakura’s mouth opens in a silent moan as she throws her head back, the translucent skin at her throat exposed.

Gaara takes the initiative to lean up and forward, mouthing his way along the exposed muscles in her neck and shoulder. Sakura grunts, shifting accidentally over his cock. Both freeze, eyes opening to stare at the other. Gaara is undone beneath Sakura’s touch and proximity; chest heaving, color heavy, and body quite obviously aroused. Sakura knows she is in the same boat.

By wordless communication, Sakura rises off of Gaara for a moment, shucking her pants and undergarments before turning to assist Gaara in doing the same. His clothing, as part of his station, is much more complicated than her own. Finally, she manages to get the ties of his hakama free and slips her fingers inside to the warm skin beneath.

Gaara thrusts up into her hands as she palms his cock, learning the feel and weight of it before she ever lays eyes on it. “Sakura,” he grunts, hands fisting into the sheets on his bed.

Sakura nods, pushing the hakama down to his knees and taking in the sight spread before her. Gaara shifts a bit anxiously, unused to the attention he now receives. Sakura doesn’t really notice, eyes tracing along the thick veins upon his shaft, the lovely purpling near the tip. Sakura’s lips spread into a wide grin as she moves forward, thumb skating over the glans.

Gaara withers beneath her, overcome by the intense sensation of human touch. Sakura scoots up his body a bit, settling herself on his stomach. She is drenched and the wet warmth trails over Gaara.

“W-what do I do?” Gaara asks, concentrating on Sakura.

Sakura pauses for the briefest of moments, realizing that she is vastly more experienced before she regroups and guides his fingers to encircle her waist. Sakura raises herself up, positions Gaara beneath her, and slowly sinks down over him. Both watch intently as their bodies merge together in the most exquisite way.

“Sakura,” Gaara breathes, knowing her now in an all-new, intimate way.

Sakura averts her gaze, unwilling to meet the intensity, the expectations, in his eyes. Instead, Sakura begins to move over him, squeezing tightly and moaning at the sensations. She moves one of her hands down to the cluster of nerves near her center, brushing back and forth over it. Sakura moans, pace picking up at the added layer of sensation.

This intimacy is nice and something that Sakura has not experienced in a long while. She watches Gaara, something delicate breaking in the vicinity of her chest at the vulnerability and wonder in his expression, in his entire being. He is so naïve in many ways and Sakura has not seen such innocence in far too long. This moment is something precious and Sakura knows she will treasure it in the long, cold nights ahead.

Gaara feels the spiraling edge drawing nearer and nearer and he knows that he wants to bring Sakura there with him. Gaara brushes her hand away from her center, fingering over the clit himself. His expression becomes concentrated, focused on the hitch in Sakura’s breath and the pleas that fall from her lips. His other hand comes up and entwines with Sakura’s.

Sakura’s hips stutter momentarily before picking up speed twice as fast, their voices rising in a dizzying crescendo. Sakura’s orgasm comes as a star burst, a supernova, a blooming of flowers hazing her vision. For Gaara, it is the giddy swoop before the jump, the expectation of a precipice, the thrill of freefalling with the person he trusts most.

Sakura huffs, head dipping to Gaara’s chest, lips lazily tracing maps of her travels. Gaara brings a shaky, wet hand up to her back, gently rubbing over her trembling shoulders. He slips free of her and the two bask in the other’s presence, celebrating their victory and their union.

Their hands remain intertwined.

* * *

Sakura stands from the pallet, fingertips tracing Gaara’s sleeping features. He is so peaceful in sleep, so youthful. It reminds Sakura of how young they truly are; thrown into wars they were never ready for. With a heavy heart, Sakura meticulously collects her strewn clothing and folds his. She picks up the _yari_ she carelessly cast aside earlier, shaking her head wryly.

She lingers in the entryway, staring at Gaara. People say strange things in fits of passion. Sakura knows this well.

Still, Gaara said he loved her.

Sakura shakes herself roughly, allowing herself a moment to take in Gaara’s form once more. She knows it is unlikely she will ever see him again. Sakura kisses her forefinger and thumb, brushing them over his eyes. A secret, intimate blessing from a long forgotten goddess of war and healing. Sakura, always an acolyte, passes it on now, praying to the goddess that he will be protected without her at his side.

She ignores the way her vision heats and blurs with tears and pushes out of the tent.

She knows he will hate her for this but Sakura hefts her _yari_ and disappears into the shadows.

* * *

 Within the tent, jade eyes open, brow furrowing into a confused expression as he repeats the foreign blessing.

“I’ll find you,” he says, a benediction, a prayer, a promise.


End file.
